Smiles to Curve the Tears
by Men To Match My Mountains
Summary: Famine turned her father away from his homeland. It is because of Famine that his daughter, Anzu Mazaki, has to return. But how will she save her father's dying land, if she cannot farm? A certain someone might, and he just might change her life, too. YxA


_Here is another story that has been swimming around in my head for a year now. Is it not about time that I let it out? I think so, too. So, enjoy. _

_Notes: For the rating, it will be 'M' to give me some freewill. I am still patching up some loose ends, but they will come together as I go along. As for the genre: a mixture of sorts. Romance, being a major one. Next comes adventure, drama; maybe even a family read. And, last but most certainly not the least, there will be angst and tragedy. The pairing for this story? (Giggles) How long have you Yu-Gi-Oh! fans known me? _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

Smiles to Curve the Tears

Chapter One: Ambiguity at its Finest

_Life's a sport, not a game, kiddo. I know that better than anybody. So keep on playing._

That was what he said to me that day. Sometimes, his words still echo throughout my body. Like a shimmering ray of hope. I never saw him again. He and I are separated by some crazy number-of-a-distance. But that is all right. He knows I love him, and I know he loves me. So what is 'distance'?

* * *

_Boston, Massachusetts:_

_Two Summers Before _

"Anzu, there are quite a few ways I can answer that question, but I am going to go with the easiest, because it lacks explanation: NO."

"But, Papa, I have many options to choose from. Why speak so strictly and so finally on the whole matter?"

"Because there is nothing to think about, my dear." My father purged his bowl of rice with a good pair of chopsticks. "The answer is right in front of you. I am not going to grace you by letting you have your way on this one."

"Papa…" my eyes settled on the freshly opened paper, again. It smelt of a threadbare tree. "Why waste a talent on something I do not have a talent in? I am not fit for this type of work, and it would be thoughtless of you to send me here. Now do you wish to do that without first thinking this over to see if a substitute can be of use?"

"Thinking over an obvious answer like _this_ to consider something else," he pointed with a drooping hand at my paper, "hardly counts as a substitute."

"But Papa-"

"My words on such matters are always final, daughter, and you know that."

My father never spoke in an overstated tone. He always upheld his choice of words to the lowest, and chances for reason were almost never to my choosing. I sat on the wooded chair crossways to my father, while he sipped the last potage of fowl from his bowl. It was a strong swallow; one that showed his contentment. A hand to pat his belly would be a kind word to me.

"This land needs to be preserved." My father said. He wiped his lips with the hem of his ragged garment. "And because of the many years of famine that land endured, my sons have died." He tipped his teacup with a steady finger. "But my good woman managed to give me a daughter. A slave child –yes, but the best offspring your mother could have ever given me. You were strong through the years of famine, and though we all starved nearly to a cruel death, the land was able to flourish with the blessings of God." My father found his way to our little window, and stared with nostalgia growing within his eyes. "You could almost see the life pouring right from the heavens! –and onto this place that we called home. That beautiful Earth, sitting right before us."

I had only heard father's speech everyday of my life –and I do not count the days of festival and seasonal feasting I celebrated emptily– but on this day, there was something different in my father's voice. I could see a lonely tear leave my father's eye. It slid down until it dampened the wooden sill of the small window.

"I left the land as you were a young one. My woman left me for the Earth that day. Her poor health had taken her away from me and stabling during the famine years without her –no; that I could not bare." He shrugged, as if his next words were looked-for, and inevitable. "So I left. And I took you with me. To this different land; America." He said the word 'America' as if he had just spat on it. Loathing was not harbored by his usual peaceful tone. Even though his back I could only see, his facial image was something I could clearly see. "It was a waste coming to this stupid land; I knew not what I was thinking to come to such a soiled and unkind place. Like eating silver when good food is right in your bowl!" He turned to me, then. I was right and his face was what I had predicted.

His sigh was birthed from deep inside his belly. "But that is for me to weep over. I came here to give you a fairer life. And fair, you have had! You bite your tongue when saying to me that 'you are not fit to for this type of work!' There is no _type _of work; the toil is all the same when it means your life! You bite your tongue when saying to _me_ that 'you have many options'. So did I have many options, and before you were born! You had a childhood of schooling; I never made you toil in the fields. You have seen the ways of the white people and of the material things made by man and their contraptions! You have seen their kind." My father trudged toward me in slow step. He placed a hand on my hind arm. "Now…now, you will see your kind! Now you will rub a little Earth on you –and a little more, then!" His eyes were aflame. "I have been fair to you daughter, and now you will be fair to your father!"

I looked down at my father's hand and the grip he had on me. A little, I winced. In the face of my unwillingness, my father was right and I was less right. I would do as he wished.

"I understand, Papa." I said softly. "When the Sun is with us, I will bring my application to the register where I am schooled. I will choose to go away; if that is the place I will go with your highest blessings."

I witnessed my father's beautiful smile. His kiss was for my cheek and I was grateful for it. It made my lips smile, too and we were both content.

_________

My father said nothing more about me leaving home to farm the land my father once left for me. I spoke nothing more about my options; no words on the matter slipped on my tongue. I acknowledged my father's decision for me, and he recognized me for a truly loyal daughter. I was content with this. Content with this, I was.

That night, my head was upon my pillow but sleep would later come to me. I lay awake that night, and thinking about my father. Left his land for me? This, I knew not. I thought this place was my home. I know now that I was wrong in my thinking.

I wondered why; why I never looked like the other children –why my reflection was always unlike the other children. It is because my family and their roots came from this land –the one my father left. The children and grown people spoke to me differently; almost as if I could not speak as fast as they could but I proved them wrong. My father tells me to be humble, so I am faithful to his wishes. But what an unnerving feeling! Is it my features that condemn me from everyone else here? My color of my flesh, though it be the same flesh as the other children? And my hair; what length –what shade– is considered strange? Hair that is not blonde and flaxen; flesh that is not sallow and colorless? Yes, that is I. I bare not these sibling traits, but others that are foreign and unknown. Father, too, for my features have shed from him.

I shifted in my small and uncomfortable cot. I exhaled heavily. My brain was tangled inside these unanswered questions. Why was I treated so differently? Cruel to me –no they were not, but is not loneliness of a different branch, of the same tree?

I clutched my garment as if it were my very heart.

"Perhaps it would be best to leave this place, then as father wishes. I now see the things my father speaks of…this 'waste of a land'." I sat up in my bed. "Yes, I will then; it will make my father's old heart a generator to keep him warm. And I will have his blessings, and many of them! Father is right. I must be fair to him. He left his land for me. I will leave this land for him. I will preserve his and make it new for him! Yes, yes…with a house, and plowed fields with strong oxen to pull." I slid out of my bed and pressed my bare feet to the stone ground. "And I will have grain and wheat; sacks of them! Pence and jewels and many other riches, my father shall have it!" I felt my cheeks become rosy with happiness. I giggled. "I shall do it at once!" Grabbing my worn fleece, I placed it on my shoulders and hurried to the door. A thought, however, stopped me. A sad smile I wore and I felt my face dim. "How foolish I am…I do not know the ways of farming and ag-ri-culture. And I speak of preserving the land! Ha –I could not preserve my own words and now I am bound to them." My hand grabbed the sill of the doorway, though there was no door. "But that is why I will go to school, over the seas! And I will be schooled, and I will learn well; I will learn all! My father ought to have it…his feet on his land, again."

My father was an old man now, but I saw childhood in him. His face was mature, but never craggy or with wrinkles. His smooth, black hair had silver stands…like beautiful, shining strings on a little banjo. Often would I spend my days combing his nice and slippery hair. His eyes were dark and wise and strong; they carried him with pride. They carried me with pride as well, for never did he look at me with disgust or regret, but with content and love. He was soaring with his height, and I plummeted with mine. For it was right for a woman to be small and not tall like a man was. His body carried strength, because his many years in the fields were righteous to him. He was an old one now, and his work in the fields may have been good for his body, but not good for his old heart and cold lungs.

Every morning, since I reached my seventh summer, I have had to prepare hot water for my father's lungs. Father said to me that this weather was testimony of a cursed land, of a bad land and that its harsh winds had weakened his lungs. And that one day, we would leave this land…but we never did. Instead, I went to school and learned how make money for food since the fields produced poorly and buy clothes, since animals in the north were rare.

But I have a good thought! Tomorrow, I will turn in my application paper and await the acceptance of the school over the seas. Then, I will pack all my belongings and leave father for sixteen seasons. I will study agriculture! I will be trained as a farmer, and make the name of Mazaki a one of legend.

"But tonight," I leaned against the sill of the doorway and slid to the ground. My head rested easily on its ridge. "I will sleep." And sleep, I did.

* * *

_Yes, I had to make it way out of character; WOOC! I am sorry, but I really cannot help it! I am working on it, though, I really am. Please, please, please read and review! I do not expect a detailed review; this story is more of a heart-related matter in my life, but it would sure make me happy to get a few! Please leave a review, do not just add it to your alert list or your favorites lists, please. Thank you! _

~ 'Men To Match My Mountains'


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